


Not in Kansas

by webcricket



Series: 24 Days of Christmas Advent Drabbles [2]
Category: Supernatural
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-03
Updated: 2017-12-03
Packaged: 2019-02-09 21:12:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12896922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/webcricket/pseuds/webcricket
Summary: Prompt Situation - Driving in a snowstorm. Frigid fluffeh snow fluffs.





	Not in Kansas

The wipers barely keep pace with the fluffy flakes accumulating on the windshield. Over the last hour traffic fluctuated from a crawl, to a slow creep, and finally halts at a dead stop on the I-80 as you make your way to the bunker – to your boys – for the holiday. An endless stream of red brake lights illuminates the snowy night before you. A river of bright golds and whites reflects in the rear view mirror. You curse yourself for ignoring the weather reports warning of _no unnecessary travel_. You curse the gas gauge hovering near empty. You curse and shake your frigid gloveless fingers and scowl at your dead cell phone. Turning up the volume on the radio, you try to drown out the cold reddening your ears with cheerful Christmas tunes. You slump against the seat and close your eyes, wishing you were home and warm. Your deep sigh frosts on the window glass – it’s not supposed to snow like this, not in Kansas.

Your thoughts turn to Sam and Dean. They’re probably already on a second batch of Sam’s extra special eggnog; and they better not have started watching _Elf_ without you or you’ll have both their asses. You hope they didn’t wait on you for dinner, and then you remember Dean’s stomach waits for no man, or woman. Especially if there’s homemade pie for dessert; or in Dean’s case, for an appetizer. Maybe he’ll save you a slice. Maybe if you’re really lucky the angel will be there too. You imagine Castiel’s shining blue eyes as he watches the television, anticipating snuggling up to the angel who seems either oblivious or indifferent to your affectionate feelings and explaining the humorous nuances of the movie to him while he pretends to understand. Warmth floods your body at the very thought of him.

“Hello, Y/N.”

“Cas!” you gasp a suspended puff of white air. If your limbs weren’t half-frozen, you would have jumped at his unannounced arrival.

He squints through the windshield from his position in the passenger seat and peers back at you, asking, “Why have the cars stopped moving?”

You shrug, an action which, in your present human icicle state, looks something more akin to a shiver. “Accident, maybe?”

He vanishes without a word.

You blink, muttering at the empty space, “Cas?”

Another blink and he reappears, tan trench and dark hair dusted with a coating of snowflakes. “A truck slid on the ice and overturned 5 miles ahead. The driver will be okay, but they’ve shut down the interstate,” he reports.

“Uh huh,” you murmur numbly, appreciating the glitter of icy crystals dissolving on his lashes.

“Are you okay?”

“Uh huh,” you repeat, an intense wave of heat sparking across your flesh upon meeting his burning blue gaze. Enochian letters tingling in his presence, you remember the angel warding carved into your ribcage, asking, “How’d you find me?”

His bright eyes dip for a moment, jaw subtly tensing before he again meets your gaze. “I sensed your,” he answers, gravelly tongue hesitating, “uh, a longing. It led me to you.” You stare at him with such profoundly powerful silence, wondering what else he knows and isn’t saying about your longing for him, that his unshaven cheeks tint pink as he glances around self-consciously.

Averting his regard to the blizzard, changing the subject, he remarks, “It is beautiful, isn’t it? I’ve always found solace in the way snow blankets the world. Although if you ask me, it is one of my father’s more ostentatious creations. Does every flake _really_ have to be unique?”

An amused giggle erupts from your throat.

He looks over, a fond smile dancing upon his lips and settling to curl the corner of his mouth and lighten his features in a grin. His delight in your laugh diminishes when he sees you quiver with cold. “You’re freezing.” Brow furrowing in concern, his fingers land gently on your shoulder and his grace flushes warm to thaw your bones as he speaks, “I’ll take you home. Sam and Dean are almost as worried as I was.”

“No!” The word emerges ahead of the thought process behind it. You falter, “I mean-”

His aspect softens, patient as you stumble.

You aren’t about to give up the opportunity to spend some quality time alone with the angel now that you know he perceives your yearning for him – especially not now that he confessed he was more worried than the Winchesters. And those boys practically invented the art of worrying. “So let them worry a little longer,” you breath out, scooting across the seat to cuddle to the seraph’s side.

He wraps his arms around your shoulders, content to let you melt comfortably against him as the snowstorm outside swirls in an enveloping sea of white.


End file.
